Within These Wicked Walls(21)

Magnus leaned over to my plate again, lifting my fork.

“May I?” he asked, and held up the pasta toward my mouth. I froze for a moment. Was he really trying to practice gursha now, when I felt so conflicted and annoyed? On the other hand, a sweet gesture of friendship was a nice distraction from this conversation.

I accepted the mouthful of food. I lingered to enjoy the slightly sweet and nutty smell of his skin—or his sweater?—compared to the savory flavor in my mouth, but embarrassment knocked the sense back into me and I moved away to chew.

The sauce was tangy, acidic, strong with garlic, but the pasta was slippery and difficult to chew, wanting to slip down my throat whole instead of staying beneath my teeth. So, I suppose, they were a bit like worms, only without the taste of protein and a healthy pop. Strange, but not awful. I’d definitely had worse, not that it mattered when you were hungry.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I took a moment to swallow. “It’s difficult to eat.”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “It’s fun.”

“‘Difficult’ and ‘fun’ are the same to you?”

“No.” He paused, his wineglass poised at his lips. “Absolutely not. I despise hard work.”

I don’t know why, but that made me grin a little. “Unless it’s for pasta.”

He choked on his wine and coughed, slapping his chest. I leaned forward to help, but he waved it away. “Blazes, Andromeda, I almost died,” he choked out, wiping his mouth on his sweater again. “You could’ve warned me you were this funny.”

I felt a blush of satisfaction warm my neck. “And you said I have no hobbies.”

“See, we’re making progress. Now I know you can’t stand being touched, you’re secretly funny, and you don’t like pasta.”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“You pull away.”

His voice was oddly concerned when he said it, and I felt my face heat up. I didn’t want to talk about my lack of basic human skills, or why I didn’t possess them. I wasn’t sure why it suddenly mattered, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want him to find me strange.

And I certainly didn’t want any pity.

“There’s nothing wrong with being careful,” I said. “And I meant the pasta.”

“Careful or anxious?” He raised his eyebrows. “And I’ve seen you eat food you like.”

“Careful. I trust people when they prove trustworthy.” This conversation was becoming unmistakably passive-aggressive, and it was annoying … well, partly. Part of me found it intriguing—exciting even—enough to want to see where it would end. In fact, thinking about it made me smirk. “Give me some injera and I’ll finish this off within a minute.”

Magnus broke into a grin as he leaned his elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand. He looked at me … not at my scar or my barely managed frizzy braids, but directly into my eyes, the same way he’d done last night.

I felt myself blushing and looked away before I could fully gather what those eyes were conveying.

“That seems anxious to me,” he said. My gaze shot back to him quickly. He pressed his fingers against his cheek gently, rhythmically, his grin the slightest bit defeated by his words. “Which is fine. I’m anxious, too.”

“About the curse?”

“No. After.”

“What happens after?”

“I don’t know.” He slumped back into his chair, his fingers laced over his stomach. “I always feel that if I was free of the curse … well, people wouldn’t feel the need to stay with me. They’d leave. And I’d be…”

“Alone,” I said, shivering. I closed my eyes for a moment, forcing the whispers of spiders from my mind. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Magnus was quiet for a second. Then, suddenly, he shoved his chair back with a loud screech and went to the kitchen. I heard a bit of knocking around, and then he came back holding a small basket. He set it in front of me, removing the cloth on top to reveal injera.

Instantly my stomach growled.

“Leftover from lunch,” he said.

“What is this?” I said, breaking off a piece without waiting, pushing down any visual signs of contentment. “A reward for entertaining you?”

“A reward? No.” He had a playful look in his eyes that was infectious enough to break my stoicism into a slight grin. “I just wanted to see you finish your pasta within a minute.”





CHAPTER 10


As soon as I stepped into the hall my amulet pulsed.

It was eight o’clock—two hours before the Waking, before the Manifestations should’ve been wildly active. But the closer I came to Magnus’s room, the more dread twisted my stomach. I moved closer and put my ear to the door. There was a vague slopping sound, like water lapping on a rock. I turned the knob, but when I pushed it wouldn’t open. I tried again, putting my shoulder into it, and the door budged slowly, like something was pushing against it. I shoved one more time and stumbled as the door gave, my leg splashing into water up to my knee.

No, not water. Thicker than that … redder than that.

I gaped at the bedroom, at what seemed to be blood filling the room from the floor up, like the swiftly rising tide of a river. Magnus was still in his bed, fast asleep. I slipped in through the crack I’d managed, the shifting of the liquid shutting the door behind me.